


Shaking Through

by rabidchild67



Category: White Collar
Genre: Beating, Hostage Situation, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Multi, Pneumonia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-26
Updated: 2012-10-26
Packaged: 2017-11-17 02:05:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/546442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/pseuds/rabidchild67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter goes undercover when Neal comes down with the flu and things go horribly wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a song by REM.

What’s wrong?” Peter asked, concerned. He’d walked into Neal’s apartment to pick him up for the prep meeting for the McKenna operation to find him sitting on the couch, shirt tails out and tie untied, staring at his right shoe.

Neal startled, as if coming out of a trance and looked at him. “Peter.” He seemed confused. Peter took a step towards him and didn’t like what he saw. Neal’s face was pale, slack. His eyes were rimmed with red and overly bright. “You all right, buddy?” Peter said. He took a step forward and noticed that Neal’s hair was soaking at the scalp. Realizing the problem, he reached out and placed the back of his hand against Neal’s forehead. “You’re burning up!”

“Am I?” Neal had clearly finally caught the flu that had decimated the FBI offices, and he didn’t look good. “How long have you been sitting there?” Peter asked

 Neal ran a hand over his eyes, “I don’t know. I feel awful.”

“You look awful. Come on. Bed.”

“No, no, no,” Neal protested. “The McKenna case – “

“Will wait until next week,” Peter finished for him. “I’m not going to risk you coming down with pneumonia. El would murder me.”

“Heh,” giggled Neal, “she’ll moidalize ya.”

“OK, that’s enough Three Stooges. Let’s go.” Peter took Neal’s elbow and pulled him to his feet. He led him to the bed, removed his shirt, sat him on the bed and did the same with his pants. He took the clothes and hung them carefully over a nearby chair, turning back to Neal who was still sitting where he’d left him, blinking slowly and staring at nothing. So Peter eased Neal into the bed, and threw an afghan over him.

He brushed Neal’s hair back and kissed him lightly on the forehead, caressed Neal’s cheek. He leaned his face against Peter’s cool, dry palm and sighed, closing his eyes. Peter smiled fondly and then went into the bathroom to fetch some Tylenol and a glass of water.

An hour later, Elizabeth arrived with half the drugstore and some homemade chicken soup from the freezer. Peter sat on the couch reading emails on his Blackberry. “How’s the patient?” El asked, eyeing a sleeping Neal.

Peter rose and kissed her on the cheek, his brow creased with worry. “Not good. He seems very feverish and a little out of it.”

“Poor baby,.” El said, referring to both her men. “Well, I’ll stay here and see to things. I’ll see you later?” They kissed goodbye and Peter left, but not before casting a worried glance in Neal’s direction.

El unpacked her supplies in the kitchenette and crossed to Neal’s bed. He had thrown the covers off himself and lay in a tank and boxer briefs, shirt hitched up exposing his belly, hands curled in fists over his head. El normally loved watching him sleep - she liked to imagine what he looked like when he was a baby - but his flushed face and sweat-dampened hair were proof that her baby wasn’t well. She sat on the edge of the bed next to him and the slight movement caused him to stir. He opened his eyes and immediately closed them to slits – the light hurt his head, but he smiled to see her face.

He squinted up at her. “Elizabeth, you came,” he said, his voice now a croak. Flu symptoms were rapidly manifesting themselves, but he still managed a smile for her.

She put a hand on his chest and smiled back. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Head hurts. Tired. Achy.”

“Awww.” She produced a thermometer from somewhere and held it out. “Open up.” When it beeped, she looked at it owlishly. “102. Not good. We should think about calling a doctor.”

“No doctors,” Neal said, noticing the slightly whiny tone in his own voice and not really caring. He realized he was freezing and pulled the covers up around his shoulders.

Elizabeth eyed him sideways but agreed. “Fine for now. But if it goes up just a bit, all bets are off. Here’s some more Tylenol.” She handed him pills and a glass of water. He dutifully downed them and curled up on his side facing her. She ran her fingers through his hair until he fell asleep.

\----

Peter looked up as Jones and Diana entered his office. It was late in the afternoon and he was looking forward to getting back to Neal and Elizabeth. She had been reporting in on the “patient’s” condition throughout the day and it didn’t look like Neal was getting any better. The look on Jones’ face told Peter he might not be leaving any time soon. “What is it?”

“It’s McKenna. Surveillance detail says there’s chatter he’s looking to move the coins sooner rather than later. Something’s got him spooked.”

“And it doesn’t help that ‘Nick Halden’ moved their meeting. Options?”

“Can we pull Neal in?” Diana asked.

“No. El says he’s not any better. How do we contact McKenna? Who’s the go-between?”

“CI that works with Ruiz in Organized Crime,” Jones answered. “He’s got an in with McKenna’s second.”

“Put the word out that Nick Halden's associate is taking over the deal. It’s time we resurrected my old persona Peter Hammond.”

“You sure, boss?” Diana asked. “It’s been a while since Hammond’s been heard from.”

 “I don’t see where we have much choice. Pull a team together. I’ll talk to Hughes.”

\----

Elizabeth sat curled up on Neal’s couch, a book on her lap. She had dimmed the lights in the room to accommodate Neal’s flu-induced migraine, and was struggling to remain awake. Neal slept fitfully in his bed. The Tylenol kept his fever at bay, but she didn’t think the worst was over yet. The buzzing of her cell phone beside her jarred her from her stupor. It was Peter. “Hi honey.”

“Listen, El, I’m not going to make it tonight. Have to move on this case or risk losing the arrest, and it’ll probably be an all-nighter.”

“I understand.”

“How’s the patient?”

“Not better, but not worse. We’ll see where we are by morning. We’ll miss you tonight.”

The wistfulness in her tone just about killed Peter. He closed his eyes and breathed out. “Me too. You don’t know how much. Love you both so much.”

“Me too,” she sighed back to him and hung up.

“Was that Peter?” Neal asked. He was awake, which she had not noticed, and his voice was small, weak. Poor woobie, she thought. She rose from the couch and went to him. His face was sleep-wrinkled and his eyes slightly puffy. Adorable. She couldn’t resist running her hand against his cheek. “It was,” she answered. “He’s got to work tonight.”

“What case?” Neal asked. He was feeling guilty for not being at the office to pitch in. He didn’t feel illness was any excuse for anything, if only he could stand for more than the five minutes it took to get to the bathroom and back…

“He didn’t say and I didn’t ask. How are you feeling?”

“Sh-shivery,” he said, his teeth almost chattering.

“Let me warm you up then,” she said and crawled into bed beside him. She sat with her back against the headboard and pulled him against her so that his head rested on her stomach. He curled his arms up and folded them against his chest; she rubbed his upper arms, hoping the friction would warm him. Eventually, the shivering subsided and she leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Poor thing. You’ll feel better tomorrow.”

“Promise?”

\----

It was just past midnight when El was awakened by Neal’s shouted “Peter!” She had fallen asleep on the couch; his fever had made him restive and she didn’t want to risk disturbing him once he finally fell asleep. He had thrown the covers to the floor and was sitting bolt upright in the bed, eyes wild and staring. She ran to his side.

“Shhh, honey, what is it?” she asked, throwing her arms around his shoulders. He didn’t seem to notice her. He was staring at something in front of him, something only he could see.

“Don’t go in, Peter. Stop!” he pleaded, holding his hand out as if he was putting it on someone’s shoulder.

“Peter’s not there, Neal. Please, wake up!” she cried frantically, taking his face in her hands. It was hot and dry to the touch, flushed. She slapped him gently on the cheek to try to snap him out of it. Finally, he seemed to comprehend that she was there. When he looked in her eyes, she saw that he recognized her but that something was still not right. His eyes were too bright, his pupils too large.

“Elizabeth?” he breathed, confused.

“Neal, you’re sick. We have to get your temperature down,” she said urgently. “Here,” she pressed the thermometer between his lips and ran to the bathroom to run a cool bath. When she returned, she checked his temperature – 105.5. Christ, she thought. “Come on, honey. Can you stand?” She helped him out of the bed, sagging back on her knees as she took almost his entire weight on her. They moved haltingly to the bathroom where she helped him into the tub as best she could. Taking up a washcloth, she wet it and ran it over his chest, neck and head – all his pulse points – praying for the cold water to do its work quickly.

She sat on the floor beside the tub, taking his temperature every ten minutes, on the verge of tears the entire time. He was, thankfully, extremely compliant with her requests, meekly keeping the thermometer between his teeth and surrendering it to her when she removed it. In between, he sat there, unresponsive to her whispers and exhortations to pull out of it.  
  
Finally, an hour later, the fever broke and he came to himself. He looked up at her, looked down at the water and had the good grace to look sheepish. “What’s just happened?”

She would’ve sobbed with relief, but she didn’t want to alarm him. “Your fever was over 105. I had to bring it down quickly. This was all I could think of.”

“I guess it worked.”

“Let’s get you back to bed.” She helped him to his feet and laughed as the water poured off his soaking underwear. Why hadn’t she thought to remove it before putting him in? She helped him remove it and wrapped him in his flannel robe. He thought he could make it back to the bed on his own, so she let him, hovering at his elbow in case she was needed. She made him sit and wait a few minutes as she remade the bed and then made him lie down again, robe and all. She covered him up with the comforter and sat down next to him.

“Thank you for saving my life,” he said to her simply, looking her in the eyes with such gratitude and love that she might have melted if she weren’t so tired. She leaned over and kissed him softly on the lips – it was all the response he would get.

\----

Neal woke the next morning feeling well enough to take a proper shower. It was slow going and by the end he started feeling terrible again, but at least he was _clean_ and felt terrible. He put another robe on and opened the bathroom door to let the steam out while he brushed his teeth. There was a knock at his door. Who could be here so early? Peter?

He shuffled out of the bathroom to see who it was as Elizabeth reached the door and opened it wide. It was Diana and Jones.

One look at Diana’s face and Neal knew something had gone horribly wrong. Elizabeth knew it too. “What is it? What happened?” she asked, completely failing to keep the panic out of her voice. Neal moved to her side.

Diana found it easier to deliver the news to Neal. “The op last night – I don’t know what happened, if they made Peter or what, but McKenna got spooked. Comms went down. When we rushed the place, they were all gone. They’ve got Peter and we don’t know where they’ve taken him."


	2. Chapter 2

Buzzing. Something was buzzing. Peter tried to ignore it, remain inside the peaceful, oblivious cocoon he’d been in for…how long? He couldn’t remember. But the buzzing wouldn’t stop. It was all he could hear. It pierced his head, made it throb. His memory of the last few hours returned and he opened his eyes, heart hammering in his chest.

He looked around. He sat in a room he didn’t recognize, windowless and too-bright from horrible overhead fluorescents – the source of the buzzing. Something stung his right eye, obscuring his vision and he blinked it shut. Blood, he thought. That explained the ache in his head. He tried to raise his hand to his head, realized he was bound to a chair, his arms behind him, legs planted firmly on the floor. He straightened in the chair, fully aware for the first time.

“He’s awake,” said a voice behind him, to the right. “Tell McKenna.” _Shit_ , he thought. His cover was blown. He heard footsteps receding behind him, felt a presence just behind him too.  He said nothing, and was rewarded for his silence by a blow to the back of his head that nearly sent him sprawling to the floor, chair and all. The room reeled. He tried to sit up. A hand in his hair dragged him upright. He let out an involuntary cry of pain and then bit his lip.

“Who do you work for, Hammond?” said a voice. Peter craned his head but the thug’s grip tightened. He knew it was McKenna; he recognized the nasal whine in the man’s voice. McKenna walked around so he could see him.  Peter took note of the sheen of sweat on his brow, the shiftiness in his eyes, pupils tight as pinpricks. McKenna was strung out on something, paranoid, which didn’t bode well for Peter.

“You know who I work for and you’re making a big mistake,” Peter said, deciding to hedge a bit. Unless they came out and admitted they knew he was a federal agent, he wasn’t going to offer it up. The thug at his shoulder punched him in the gut, taking all the breath out of him. Peter wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball, but the man kept his fist in his hair, pulling his head back painfully.

“Really?” McKenna sneered. “Because to me, it doesn’t look like you’ve got any bargaining room. Tune him up, Charlie.”

The thug actually smiled, and proceeded to punch Peter mercilessly, and when the chair tipped over, he kicked at him until he got tired. Peter lay on his side, still tied to the chair, panting, until one last kick to his head sent him into merciful oblivion.

\----

Neal sat in the conference room at the FBI offices, an IV stuck in his arm filling his body with vitamins, antivirals and glucose. The team doctor assured him it would make him feel better, and he needed to feel better if he had any hope of contributing to the effort to recover Peter. He’d left Elizabeth at his place, June fussing over her and Moz hovering nearby.  Neal had sworn to her he'd bring Peter home, safe.

The rest of the team filtered in for the update meeting which was scheduled to start in five minutes. Someone was eating a hot dog. Neal wanted to vomit.

Hughes entered finally and asked the team leads to report in. Everyone from anticrime to organized crime was leaning on their CIs and other contacts, trying to get word of McKenna’s whereabouts. The man owned many clubs and buildings throughout the five boroughs, both legitimately and through a number of shell corporations, so uncovering his whereabouts was proving difficult.

“Come on, people, we’re running out of time. I want ideas now,” Hughes barked, glancing around the room.

“Do we know if Peter’s cover was blown?” Neal asked.

“No,” Diana replied.

“So for all we know, they think they’ve got Peter Hammond, right? So, what if we make McKenna feel like he’s made a big mistake, that Peter is a real player and he’s just screwed up royally?”

“Could work,” Ruiz agreed. “We could spread that information around town, see if it works.”

“I was thinking a more direct approach,” Neal said, leaning forward, face flushed but intent. “Doesn’t Barelli owe us a favor?”

Ruiz smiled. Leo Barelli owed them a big favor after they’d not only retrieved his church’s prized bible, but uncovered a traitor in his organization. “What are you thinking?”

\----

McKenna sat in his office doing a couple of lines of blow to even himself out. He sat up and thought about what to do with Hammond. He didn’t like last minute switch-ups, and he didn’t like new players telling him what to do. For all he knew, the guy was trying to muscle in on his gig or worse, a plant or informant for the cops. No, the more his addled brain thought about it, the more he was convinced he’d done the right thing. Until Charlie walked in with his cell phone to his ear.

Charlie looked nervous as he listened to the person at the other end. “Yeah. Yeah. No, we…OK. I said OK. I’ll hit you back.” He flipped the phone closed and took a deep breath. “That was my buddy Nate over at the OTB. Word on the street’s this guy Hammond’s a real player. Nate says he’s a big deal in Chicago or Detroit or somethin’ and he was here to meet wit da Mob.”

“Ah, shit,” McKenna hissed.

“Leo Barelli’s lookin’ for him.”

“Shit!” McKenna shouted.

“We gotta do somethin’, boss.”

“Shut up and let me think!” McKenna got up and started pacing around the office, muttering. His own cell phone rang and he looked down at the display. “Christ, it’s that mope Halden. Asshole.” He answered the phone, “What?”

On the other end, Neal gave the thumbs-up to Diana, who set the trace going. She motioned to Neal to draw out the conversation. “Two minutes,” she mouthed. Neal nodded.

“Andrew,” Neal said, keeping his tone neutral. “How are we this evening?”

“What do you want, Halden?”

Neal stood so his voice would project properly. “I think you know. I was expecting to deliver some Augustinian coins to my clients and I wake this morning to find – nothing. My friend Mr. Hammond – where is he?”

“He’s uh…” Neal’s heart skipped a beat as McKenna hedged.

“No need to go on, because I think I know.” At his end of the conversation, McKenna flinched. He didn’t know if the stories he’d heard about Halden were true or not, but he wasn’t a man to get on the wrong side of.

Neal continued, his voice low and gravelly. In truth, this was due to the congestion in his chest as his flu bug progressed, but at the other end of the phone, it came across filled with menace. ”I sent you my proxy and you have disrespected me. Do you know who Peter Hammond is? Do you know who he’s connected to?”

“I –“

“Hammond is from Detroit. I don’t need to tell you what _that_ means. He is in town to broker a deal with Leo Barelli, and kindly agreed to act as my agent with you when I became unavailable. And now – he’s disappeared. Can you tell me why that is?”

“I haven’t seen him since last night.”

“Do. Not. Lie. To me,” Neal went on. Diana marveled at his intensity. Though she knew it was an act, she had to admit Caffrey was really selling it. “Almost,” she mouthed to Neal. He nodded.

McKenna was silent at the other end of the phone. Neal knew just what to say to push him over the edge. “Barelli’s talking about taking thumbs, Andrew.”

McKenna started babbling. Diana gave Neal the thumbs-up. They’d triangulated the call. Neal went in for the close. “Tell you what, Andrew. I’m feeling in a charitable mood. I’ll smooth it over with Barelli. Tell me where you’ve got Hammond.” McKenna gave him an address. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Do not disappoint me.” Neal hung up the phone and swayed slightly on his feet. As the adrenaline wore off, he felt himself losing the last bit of energy he had in selling his act to McKenna. He sat down and ran a shaking hand through his hair. “Can someone get me some tea?” One of the probies ran from the room.

Diana gave him the stinkeye. “What?” he said.

“We can’t pull an extraction team together in under thirty minutes, Neal. We need at least an hour.”

“I’ll go in alone. Stall. We can’t leave Peter there alone for any longer than necessary. You’ll sell it to Hughes, right?”

“I will,” Ruiz said from the corner of the room. “That was some performance, Caffrey. Are you going to be all right going in?”

“I’ll make it work.” He shivered; his fever was coming back. “Where’s that tea?”

\----

Neal sat in the back seat of a car one block from the warehouse where he was to meet McKenna. Diana was driving and Ruiz, who was in the passenger seat, twisted his body around to look at him. “You ready, Caffrey? There’s not a lot of room for creativity here. You get in, you get to Peter and you stay with him. We’ll do the rest.”

Neal looked at him through eyes made too bright by fever. His brow was drenched in sweat, but he had so far been able to deal with the wracking coughs that threatened to consume him. What he lacked in health currently was made up by sheer will and determination to see this through. He would get Peter out safely. Or die in the attempt. He inserted his earbud and nodded.

“The strike team will be mustered in another 30 minutes, Neal,” Diana was saying. “If things go south, Ruiz and I will come in, guns blazing. You sure you don’t want a vest?”

“And ruin the lines of this jacket?” Neal joked lamely. He shook his head and smiled. He knew he’d likely be patted down my McKenna’s men. He ran his right hand through his hair, pushing it off his forehead and left the car.

He was at the door to McKenna’s warehouse in under two minutes. Taking several deep breaths, he didn’t bother to knock, put on his best hostile attitude and walked through the front door.

He was greeted by two thugs with handguns trained on him. He gave them each a withering stare in turn. “Where is McKenna?” he gritted.

“Mr. Halden,” McKenna said, walking into the vast space from an office at the back.He crossed the room and held a hand out to Neal. “A pleasure to see you again.”

“Cut the shit, Andrew,“ Neal said rudely, ignoring the proffered hand. He gestured at McKenna’s men. “Isn’t this the kind of behavior that has brought us to this point? I suggest you call off your dogs.”

McKenna made a gesture and his men backed off. “I apologize. My men can be overzealous at times.”

Neal gave him a withering look. “Take me to Hammond. I haven’t got all afternoon.”

\----

Peter lay curled up on his side in a small room, fading in and out of consciousness. At moments of lucidity, he wondered why he was trying so hard to stay awake, the pain was so bad. There was a fire in his side where he knew he had broken ribs and it was getting harder to breathe. But that was nothing to the pain in his belly that was at times so bad he struggled not to cry out.

He couldn’t recall when McKenna’s men had stopped using him for a punching bag, or how he’d gotten back to this room. But he was glad for the respite, at least for a little while.  Suddenly, he realized he was hearing voices coming toward him and he began to fear they’d start in again. He closed his eyes and tried his best to play possum.

\----

Neal walked down the brightly lit hallway on a haze of adrenaline, led to the back of the warehouse by McKenna. When the door opened and he saw a bloody and bruised Peter lying on the floor, hands tied behind his back, it was all he could do to keep in control of his reaction. He clenched his jaw, muscles bunching tightly, and kept his voice low. “Jesus Christ, McKenna!” he exclaimed, and crossed over to Peter.

He went down on one knee and made a show of untying Peter’s hands, being careful not to betray any feeling other than the indifferent concern of one person toward another. It was one of the hardest cons he’d ever pulled, because Peter was in seriously bad shape. Abrasions so covered the left side of his face, Neal thought he’d need plastic surgery. His eye on that side was swollen nearly shut, and he had blackish-colored blood on his mouth which made him fear internal injuries. But when he raised one of Peter’s eyelids, he saw that Peter was awake, looking at him like he couldn’t believe it. Neal chanced a wink and then stood.

Neal wheeled around on McKenna, crossed to him and slapped him, hard and sharp once, twice. “You fucking, coked-out idiot,” he seethed. “It is going to take a hell of a lot more than a ‘sorry’ and quick payoff to smooth this over with Barelli. He’s going to be howling for blood. Do you realize you may have kicked off a Mob war?”

McKenna began to babble again.

“Shut up. I would whack you myself, but these are new shoes. Now go get me some water and some towels, jackass.”

McKenna fled the room.

Neal let out a shuddering breath and quickly returned to Peter’s side. He knelt beside him and brushed the hair back off his forehead, placing a palm gently against his face. He noticed his hand was trembling, a byproduct of the adrenaline coursing through him. “Jesus, Peter,” he breathed, “what did they do to you?”

“Neal – “ Peter hissed, his breaths coming in gasps. “So… glad...”

“To see me? I know, me too. Shhh. Diana and Ruiz are outside. The team’s almost here. Just hang in a little while longer, OK?” He heard steps running down the hallway as McKenna returned with a bottle of water and, surprisingly, a First Aid kit. Neal took them both from him and said, “Thank you. Now get out of my sight while I see to this man.”

Neal glanced at his watch. He reckoned the strike team would be busting the doors in in about fifteen minutes. He could work this until then – easy. He turned to Peter and gently lifted his head, put the water bottle to his lips. “Tiny sips, thaaaat’s it.” He took the water away and used it to wet down some gauze pads. He began to wipe the blood from Peter’s mouth and eyes, dabbing at the raw skin gently. Next he felt Peter’s limbs to see if anything was broken. When he reached his right leg, he discovered that Peter had retained his backup weapon in its ankle holster. He left it where it was for now.

Peter sighed, and Neal could see he was relaxing, but that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. “No, Peter, I need you to stay awake, buddy. Can you do that for me? Peter?”

Peter nodded.

“Fifteen minutes, just fifteen minutes. And if they can hear me in the _fucking van_ , they’ll have some medics on standby. Because there are clearly some _internal injuries_ and _head trauma_ to deal with here…” He emphasized the last bit for Diana’s and Ruiz’s benefit. Diana radioed in a request for medics and a helicopter on standby if necessary.

Minutes ticked by. Neal knew he had to wait, but it didn’t mean he had to be civil about it. “I sure hope we’ve got the right amount of force mustering for this operation,” he said, again for the benefit of those listening in. “Because there’re at least four unfriendlies in this building, all armed, not to mention McKenna, who’s coked to the gills. I’m just sayin’….”

“We gotcha, Neal,” came Diana’s voice over the comm., finally. “Medics are on standby. How’s our man?” Diana didn’t like to admit it, but she took a personal interest in the health and safety of each and every member of the WC team, from Peter on down to the lowliest probie. They were _her people_ , damn it.

“Hey, Di,” Neal whispered into the comm., turning away from Peter so he wouldn’t hear. “Not good. You’ve got to hurry.” He coughed then, a hacking, wet cough that wracked his body and took several minutes to get under control.

“You don’t sound so good yourself. Listen, the team’s here, just getting into position. Ten minutes.”

“Thanks,” Neal said, and turned back to Peter, who had closed his eyes. “Peter!” He lightly slapped his partner’s face “Hey, buddy, stay with me. C’mon, wake up.” He didn’t want to think what might happen if Peter didn’t.

Peter started awake. “Sssorry,” he slurred, and Neal sighed in relief. He removed his suit jacket and bunched it up, placing it under Peter’s head, which seemed to make him more comfortable.

The minutes passed slowly, making Neal more and more nervous as they did. He busied himself in fussing over Peter, petting his hair and making sure he stayed awake.

And then he heard Ruiz’s voice come over the comm. “Caffrey, we’re coming in. What’s your location?”

“Southwest corner in a small office or storage room,” Neal replied, and then all hell broke loose outside.

 “Cops!” someone inside the building shouted at almost the same time Neal heard,“FBI! Don’t move!” followed by an alarming amount of gunfire from at least two parts of the building.

“Drop it!” someone shouted, then there was a scream and the thud of a body hitting the floor.

“Front room clear!” Neal heard in his earbud.

“Northeast corridor clear!”

Someone screamed unintelligibly, followed by a burst of automatic weapons fire. “I’m hit!” came a shout.

Neal crouched with his back to Peter, prepared to defend him to the death. He didn’t have long to wait. He heard running steps outside the door and then it burst open. McKenna stood in the doorway, an AK-47 in his hands and a wild look in his eyes. “Halden, you shit, I’m gonna end you!” he said.

“After all we’ve meant to each other?” Neal snarked.

“Go to hell,” McKenna said as he hefted the weapon to aim it at Neal.

At that moment, three things happened. From somewhere behind him, McKenna was hit in the right shoulder by a single gunshot. Jarred by the assault, his finger hit the trigger and a spray of bullets hit the concrete floor as his arm continued on the upswing, sending dust and chunks of debris flying in all directions. In one fluid motion, Neal reached back, took the handgun from Peter’s ankle holster, came down on his right knee and fired once, his bullet hitting McKenna in the middle of his forehead.

McKenna fell to the floor, dead. Diana entered the room, eyes wild and weapon drawn. She watched wordlessly as Neal lowered the gun and placed it almost gently on the floor. They shared a long moment staring at each other, Diana breathing hard from her pursuit of McKenna, Neal calm, restrained, his head cocked to one side as if in serious thought. He blinked and the moment was over.

“Nice shot,” Diana commented.

“Yeah, well…” Neal began and didn’t finish. He turned to see to Peter.

Diana depressed the button on her communicator. “This is Berrigan. I’ve secured Caffrey and Burke. McKenna is DOA. We’re going to need medics asap in the Southwest corner of the building.”

\----

Thirty minutes later, Neal walked beside the gurney the EMTs had put Peter on, muttering pointless exhortations to Peter to “hang in” and that he’d be all right. In reality, Peter had lost his battle to remain conscious several minutes earlier, and Neal was saying these things more for his own benefit than for Peter’s.

They loaded Peter into the ambulance, and Neal hung back, not wanting to get in the way. Diana or Jones would take him to the hospital. He pulled out his cell phone as the ambulance pulled away and pressed a button. El picked up the call before the first ring completed. “Neal?” she answered, her voice high, frightened.

“We got him, El. He’s safe.”

“Oh thank God,” she breathed. “How is he?”

“He’s hurt very badly. They’re taking him to St. Vincent’s. I’ll meet you there.”

“Thank you,” she said, and he could hear the relief in her voice. “Neal?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you both so much right now.”

Neal suddenly couldn’t speak around the lump in his throat. “I love you too.” He hung up and pressed the display of the phone to his lips, kissing it softly. He turned as he heard someone call his name, “Caffrey!”

It was Hughes. “Yes sir?” he said, and made his way over to where the Assistant Director stood with Ruiz and Diana.

“Good work today, Caffrey.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Diana will take you to the hospital, but we’ll want to debrief you as soon as possible while every detail is fresh in your mind.”

“Of course.”

“Let’s go.” Diana said, smiling up at him as she placed her hand on his arm and squeezed. She’d always liked Neal, but today she was proud and a little awed by him.


	3. Chapter 3

On the drive to the hospital, Neal found the adrenaline he’d been coasting on for the last several hours abruptly fading away. The flu symptoms he’d been holding off returned with a vengeance and he could feel the heat radiating from his body, his eyes burning when he closed them. The tightness and pressure in his chest resolved itself into a full-fledged wheeze and he was finding it difficult to take a deep breath. He turned his head when he realized Diana was talking.

“Peter is lucky you were there today.”

“We were both lucky,” he replied quietly.

“Where did you learn to shoot like that? Your timing – “

“I trained as an Olympic sharpshooter when I was a kid.”

She looked at him skeptically. “Fine, don’t tell me.”

“I’m not lying. Came in second at Junior Nationals when I was fourteen, but then life happened and I stopped training. I guess you never really lose it.”

“But you always say you hate guns.”

He gave it a long thought and replied, “They remind me of what I lost, I suppose. But……also…they hurt people….Something’s…….wrong, Di……” He gasped for breath and found he couldn’t get enough. His vision was tunneling, turning white around the edges.

When Diana looked at him, his eyes were like saucers, fear and confusion reflecting back to her. She noticed his lips were turning blue. She reached out and squeezed his hand. “Slow, shallow breaths, Neal. We’ll get you some help, OK? Stay calm, please.” She wasn’t sure if that last sentence was more for his or her benefit. She flipped on the lights and sirens and made her way the remaining mile or so to St. Vincent’s emergency room.

She pulled into a slot at the entrance, jumped out of the car and grabbed the first person she saw with scrubs. “You have to help my friend. He can’t breathe.”

The nurse, whose nametag read “Allan” replied, “Where is he?”

Diana rushed back to the passenger side of the car and opened the door. Neal looked up at her with dazed eyes. “Neal, we’re here. We’re at the hospital. We’ll get you some help, OK?” She was about to reach in to disengage his seatbelt when she noticed he’d passed out. She reached into the car and put a hand on his chest, shaking him. “Neal? Neal!”

Allan came up behind her with a wheelchair, and two doctors. “He’s not breathing. Please help him!” Diana said urgently, stepping out of their way.  The burly nurse deftly unlocked Neal’s seatbelt and half-lifted him into the chair. One of the doctors spared a glance at Neal. “He’s in respiratory arrest,” she said to the nurse. “Take him to ER 2 immediately!” She turned to Diana, “What’s his name?”

“Neal.”

“And yours?”

“Diana.”

“OK, Diana, your friend’s in good hands. Did anything precipitate this?”

“He’s had the flu.”

“OK, that helps. I’ve got to go, but please wait just inside and a nurse will be out very soon to ask you some more questions.” The doctor did not wait to hear a response, running back into the building to see after her latest patient.

Diana took a few steps after her, then thought she should maybe move her car and stopped, took a step back, then finally just stood there, uncertain. Suddenly, the emotions she’d been holding in through the stress of the day overcame her and she burst into tears. She returned to her car, put it into drive and double parked on a side street, leaving the lights flashing. She cut the engine and gripped the wheel tightly for a minute to compose herself.

When she walked into the ER, Diana flashed her badge to the charge nurse. “FBI,” she said. “Two of my colleagues have been brought in – “

“Yes, the respiratory failure. You’re his friend?”

Diana nodded. “Can I see him?”

“When he’s stable. We’ve got some questions for you. Did you say you had another person here?”

“Yes, Peter Burke. He can’t have been here for more than a few minutes.”

“Of course. He’s being evaluated now. We’ll come out and give you an update soon. Has his family been notified?”

“Yes, she’s – oh, there she is now.” Elizabeth and June had entered the area from the direction of the main lobby and were frantically looking around for where they should go and who they needed to talk to. Diana called out to them and Elizabeth rushed over.

“How is he? How’s Peter?” Elizabeth asked Diana.

“They’re looking at him now. He’s in bad shape, I think.”

“Oh my God.”

“Listen, Elizabeth, there’s something else – “

“What? Where’s Neal?” Elizabeth looked around the waiting area for him.

“That’s the thing. Maybe you should sit down.”

“No, just tell me.”

“Neal is in the ER as well. He collapsed on the drive over here, and – Elizabeth!” Diana reached forward and grabbed Elizabeth by the arms as her knees seemed to buckle. The jolt of being caught snapped Elizabeth back to herself, but her legs still wobbled. June took an arm and she and Diana helped Elizabeth to sit on a nearby chair. The nurse brought a glass of water.

 “I’m sorry,” Elizabeth said. “Please tell me what happened?”

Diana gave her the details: Peter was located and rescued due to Neal’s brilliant plan, but the agent had been badly beaten during his captivity and rushed to the hospital. On the drive over, Neal seemed fine but then developed difficulty breathing. On arrival, he was rushed in for treatment. “That was just a few minutes ago. I don’t know what’s happening. And there’s something else,” Diana continued. “During the operation, Neal was forced to shoot the suspect. It was self-defense, but we’ll have to deal with that at some point.”

Elizabeth’s already pale face grew paler. “Is he dead?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“He won’t have to go back to prison, will he?”

“We’ll do everything we can to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

They all sat beside Elizabeth, June holding her hand and waited for news.

Several minutes later, a doctor approached them. “Mrs. Burke?” she said, addressing all three women. “I’m Elizabeth Burke,” El said, standing.

“I’m Dr. Roberts. Your husband is stable, but he will very likely need plastic surgery to repair his facial fractures, and a ruptured spleen. We’ll know more when we can take him to radiology. He’s stable now and is asking for you. I can take you back for a few minutes if you like.”

Elizabeth followed Dr. Roberts back to the separate rooms where emergent cases were treated. On the way, she passed an open door. A quick glance inside confirmed it was Neal. She stopped, took a step into the room. “Neal?” she said.

He lay on his back, tubes and wires crisscrossing his exposed chest. A respirator was doing his breathing for him, its clicking-whirring-gushing noises providing the only sounds in the room. She rushed to his side. “Oh my God,” she said, raising a trembling hand to her mouth.

Dr. Roberts followed her in. “Do you know this man?”

“He’s our…I mean, he’s my husband’s partner.  At the FBI. What’s wrong with him?”

The doctor consulted Neal’s chart. “He was brought in with severe respiratory distress, and went into full respiratory arrest, which led to a cardiac event. They were able to revive him, but he’s on that ventilator to help him breathe. The doctor’s induced a coma to help him recover. They suspect viral pneumonia.”

Elizabeth clutched at Neal’s hand. She didn’t know what to do with this information. Here was this man she loved as a second husband, who’d put Peter’s his safety above his own, even killing to protect him. She did not have words. “Oh, Neal, baby,” she whispered.

After a minute, she turned to Dr. Roberts. “Will he be all right?”

Roberts looked up from the chart. “Time will tell – we’ll have to see how he responds to the antiviral therapy, and steroids for the pneumonia. Looks like they’ve put him into a drug-induced coma for the time being, so he won’t fight the ventilator. Your husband is in the next room.”

Elizabeth mutely followed the doctor into the next room. She stood at Peter’s side and took up his hand, kissing him on the inside of his wrist. He woke from the movement, saw it was her and caressed her face with his hand. “I’m here, honey,” she said, “I’m here.” Her eyes were filling with tears.

“El…”

“Shhh. Don’t talk – please rest. They are going to have to do some tests soon, so I can’t stay long.”

“Neal?”

“Neal is here. He’ll be in later,” she lied.

“He saved me.”

“I know.”

“Neal saved me,” Peter repeated softly as he drifted back to sleep. Elizabeth stood at his bedside clutching his hand to her chest until the nurses had to ask her to leave.

\----

The next twelve hours were the worst in Elizabeth’s life. Peter was taken into surgery to repair his damaged spleen, and while the doctors had him open, they found additional damage to his left kidney and liver that had to be repaired. The surgery lasted five hours, but at the end, the doctors reported his prognosis was good for a full recovery. The plastic surgery would have to wait another day or two.

Neal, on the other hand, continued to worsen as the night progressed. She sat at his bedside in the ICU while Peter was in surgery, alternately holding his hand and running her fingers through his hair, a gesture she knew soothed him. His fever stubbornly refused to break, and the oxygen levels in his blood remained alarmingly low. When she pressed them, the doctors reluctantly told her he had a 50% chance of surviving the night.

Elizabeth didn’t know quite what to do with that information. She sat down and looked around the room, affected by its cold sterility and feeling quite small. When she glanced at the door, she saw Moz standing there, looking like a rabbit about to bolt.

She stood and he entered the room and they looked at each other with Neal’s body between them. “Oh, Mozzie,” El finally said on a sob, walking around the bed and throwing her arms around his neck. She was done with keeping it together, and the sight of him made her lose her composure completely.

Moz stumbled back a step, unaccustomed to the squirmy urgency of a distraught woman, but strangely attracted to the feeling that he was needed. He folded his arms around her and buried his nose in her hair (it smelled like green apples, he noted), and tried to make soothing noises. But when he glanced over at his boy in that bed, the reality of the situation hit him like a semi, and he felt that if he didn’t hold onto her tightly enough, what was holding _him_ up?

Elizabeth sensed his shift in focus and released him. They turned to look at Neal, and Moz took a step towards the bed. “Tell me how this happened,” he said hollowly. “I thought it was a simple sting for a coin theft.”

“It’s never simple anymore.”

Mozzie reached down and held her hand. “Indeed,” he said sadly. “What do the doctors say?”

She filled him in on Neal’s condition. “And what about Peter?”

She thought it sweet of him to be concerned for Peter and told him so. He put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her to him again. “A hero is no braver than an ordinary man, but he is braver five minutes longer.”

“Thoreau?”

“Emerson. We have to stick by our heroes, Elizabeth.”

 They stood watching over Neal for a long time, willing him to recover. Eventually, a nurse came to tell them that Peter had come out of the recovery suite and was resting in a room nearby.

\----  


Peter felt like he was floating in a warm sea. Voices reached him, but then they seemed to get swept away by the wind, so that he was only conscious of a few words. Words like _surgery_ , and _recovery_ , and _prognosis_. He let them float away – they weren’t pleasant words anyway.

Time passed and more of the words started sticking, whole phrases even. Like _I love you_ , and _I need you_ , and _Neal_. It was Elizabeth saying these things, and for her he was willing to leave the warm sea he was floating in, so he let himself float up and out.

“El?” he said, even before his eyes were open. He blinked at the bright sunlight in the room, saw his wife’s beautiful face haloed by that light. She was leaning on the edge of his bed, smiling down at him, her eyes crinkling from her smile, but he could see she was sad and worried. He didn’t want her to worry.

She leaned over and kissed him. “Welcome back.”

“I’m in the hospital?” She nodded. Slowly, his memory returned and he recalled being held by McKenna and his men for a long time, but then Neal was there, standing over him, protecting him. “Where’s Neal?”

The smile left her face and he saw more sadness in her eyes. “He’s in the other room,” she said, but he didn’t pick up on her evasion.

“I’m so tired,” he said.

“Go to sleep, baby. I’ll be here when you wake up.” He was asleep before she finished speaking.

The next time Peter woke it was night time again, and when he looked over at El, she was leaning in a chair with her hand entwined in his, asleep. He drifted off again.

When he woke the third time, he was finally fully aware. Aware of a dull ache in his gut, and of a pain in his head. But finally lucid for the first time in a long time. He tried to sit up, but found that it hurt too much. He looked around and saw he was alone. He found the call button for the nurse and depressed it. The nurse responded within minutes, asking questions about his pain levels, taking his temperature, showing him the button he could push to self-administer the pain killers.

“Where’s my wife?” he asked her.

“She’s down in the ICU with your partner.”

“My partner?  Why is he in the ICU?”

“I’m afraid he is very sick, Mr. Burke.”

“What? How? He was with me. Neal saved my life. Please, you’re wrong. Tell me it’s a mistake.” He knew he was babbling, but he couldn’t help it. The idea of anything happening to Neal was unimaginable. He clutched at the nurse’s hand, his eyes begging for an explanation.

“Oh, Peter,” came a voice from the door. Elizabeth stood there looking exhausted, regret and sadness on her face. The nurse decided to leave them alone, and El walked over to Peter.

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way, honey.”

“Tell me what happened,” he begged.

Elizabeth sat on the edge of the bed and sighed. “I’m scared to,” she said in a small voice.

“Why?”

“Because if I say it, it makes it real,” she looked at him with a regretful expression. “Oh, honey.” He held his arm out to her, and she leaned into his embrace, careful not to put any weight on his belly, but glad to feel the strength of his arm around her. She cried into his shoulder, the pressure of everything that had been pressing on her these last three days finally venting itself. It took her several minutes to compose herself.

Peter was never good with crying women, and this time was no exception. But with Neal’s fate a giant question mark, he was growing a little anxious. “Please, El, you’ve got to tell me what happened,” he begged her.

She sat up and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “OK. I’m sorry I kept it from you, but I didn’t want you to worry. Neal collapsed after they rescued you. He s-stopped breathing and then his heart stopped, but they were able to start it again, but he still can’t breathe on his own. He’s got viral pneumonia and it’s been unresponsive to the drugs and…and…”

Peter’s face had gone frighteningly pale. “And what, El? He’s gonna make it, isn’t he? What do the doctors say?”

She buried her face in her hands. “I don’t know, honey! They say it’s day-to-day, but he’s not getting any better. I’m so scared.”

He pulled her to him again and hugged her tightly. “It’ll be all right. Shhhh, it’s OK,” he said, stroking her hair. He wished he could believe it.

\----

The next day, Peter had recovered enough that he was allowed to sit up in a chair in his room for a short time. Later, he convinced a friendly young nurse named Gina to put him in a wheelchair so he could visit Neal. He’d told Elizabeth to go home and rest for a while and she reluctantly agreed.

The nurse wheeled him into the ICU and to Neal’s bedside. Peter was devastated by the sight before him. Neal lay flat on his back, the ventilator tube hanging from his mouth doing all his breathing for him. His face was alarmingly pale, the faint ghosting of stubble on his jaw and the dark waves of his hair standing in stark contrast. The skin around his eyes had darkened, seeming like bruises. He looked impossibly young and vulnerable lying there.

Peter leaned forward and took up Neal’s hand in his own. He stared into Neal’s face, looking for some hint of life or awareness there but saw none. “Oh Neal,” he said haltingly. “There’s so much you need to know, so much I need to tell you, to show you. You’ve meant so much to me. And El. We can’t do this without you now. Life would be…without joy, without laughter if you aren’t here. Please, please…don’t leave me.

“You can’t possibly know how important you are, because I’ve never told you, and now I’m so scared I won’t be able to. I’ve never begged for anything in my entire life, but Neal, I’m begging now.” He was crying openly now, not caring who heard or saw. He rested his head against the railing of Neal’s bed, heartbroken. “Please come back, Neal.”

Peter sat with Neal for only a short while. He was due to have his facial surgery in the morning and he needed to rest. His nurse Gina soon arrived to return him to his room. As she was wheeling him into the elevator, she looked thoughtful and finally said, “You really love him, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“But you have a wife.”

“I do. I love her too.”

“What’s it like?”

Peter smiled and glanced back at her. “Imagine feeling all the love you would ever want in your life. Then imagine doubling it.”

“Sounds nice.”

“It is.”

“You’re very lucky,” the young woman said wistfully.

“I know."


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, Elizabeth sat with Peter, holding his hand while they waited for him to be prepped for surgery. Mozzie arrived and took a seat beside her. The two of them had gotten very close over the last few days, each actively seeking the other’s company for support and comfort. “Neal’s doctors are doing some tests. They kicked me out.”

“Any change?” Peter asked.

“I don’t know, there was a gang of them.” He removed his glasses to clean them. “This might prove to be the end of me,” he said wearily, and leaned the chair back against the wall.

Before El could respond, one of Neal’s doctors walked into the room. “Good morning,” he said, and smiled. “I have some hopeful news. Neal’s blood oxygen and lung volume have improved, which means we may be out of the woods. Time will tell, but we hope to take him off the critical list by this evening.”

“Thank God,” Elizabeth breathed, and hugged Mozzie.

“Thank you, doctor,” Peter said, smiling broadly. He sighed his relief and laid his head back on his pillow. He felt as if he’d been reprieved, his relief was so great. He had never been so thankful for anything in his life.

\----

Peter’s plastic surgery was a success and he was back in his room by lunchtime. He woke to Elizabeth’s smiling face, Moz’s less-smiling but no less happy face hovering behind her.

“You look like the Phantom of the Opera, Suit,” Moz commented.

“Not funny,” Peter complained. “How’s Neal?”

“Slightly better,” El reported. “And improving.”

Peter smiled sleepily and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, it seemed that more time had passed. Diana was sitting next to him, thumbing through an old issue of “Guns & Ammo.”

“Diana!” Peter greeted her.

She looked up and smiled. “Hi boss. How are you feeling?”

“Tired, but pleasantly loopy. These drugs are great.”

“I’ll bet. I heard Neal is much improved.”

“Yeah. Tell me what happened, exactly. El has been sketchy on the details. I think she doesn’t want to stress me out.”

“She had good reason. You sure you want to hear all the gory details?”

“Give me the bullets.”

“Well, we recovered the coins and managed to bust McKenna’s operation wide open. If it weren’t for Neal, I’m not sure we’d have found you. Oh, and we owe Leo Barelli another favor.”

Peter gave her the stink eye and she explained Neal’s plan to find him. “What happened in that warehouse?”

“Do you remember anything?”

“I remember them beating the crap out of me. I remember Neal was there, and gunfire, but the rest is still pretty hazy. Must be the drugs.”

“Well, Neal was amazing, boss. You can be proud of him. I didn’t think he had it in him, but he’s kind of a badass. You can listen to the tape when you’re feeling better. But there’s going to have to be an OPR investigation; Hughes is holding them off until you’re both out of the hospital.”

“OPR? Why?”

“During the operation, I engaged with McKenna. He had an automatic weapon and was heading back to where we knew you were being held, so I pursued. He reached the room before I could take him out. When he entered, he drew his weapon. I fired but he did not go down. Neal drew the weapon from your ankle holster and shot him.”

“ _Neal_ shot him?”

 “It was self-defense. Got him right between the eyes.”

“ _Neal_ did?”

“Yes. It was an amazing shot, boss. I hit McKenna in the arm, and his weapon was firing. Neal drew, aimed and took him out in less than a second. I have never seen anything like it.”

“ _Neal_?”

“You keep saying that. Yes, Neal. He told me he trained as a sharpshooter as a teenager. Probably bullshit, but there you have it.”

Peter recalled Neal’s calm demeanor in shooting skeet on Long Island during the boiler room case, and didn’t doubt it. “No, it makes a weird kind of sense. I’ve seen him shoot. Then what happened?”

“The medics took you to the hospital and I drove Neal here to meet Elizabeth and…” her voice broke.

“He collapsed.”

“Yeah. It was horrible. He stopped breathing right there in my car. I – he shouldn’t have been on that op. He was too sick. I saw it, but I didn’t stop him.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, Di. He wouldn’t have listened to you. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me. I shouldn’t have gone undercover to begin with. We could’ve waited, I knew McKenna was unstable, but I wanted the collar. The whole operation was screwed up from the start, and that’s on me. I’m just thankful everything has turned out OK.”

\----

Over the next three days, both Neal and Peter continued to improve and heal, much to the relief of their loved ones. Peter received visits from Hughes, Ruiz, Jones and the rest of the team, each filling him in on some aspect of the case so that he eventually had the entire story settled in his head. He shared it all with Elizabeth, who shared his amazement at Neal’s performance quite literally under fire. “He might be a superhero,” El joked at one point.

On the morning of the fourth day, they received two bits of very good news. The first was that Peter was going to be discharged the next day. The second was that Neal was being moved out of the ICU and that his doctors thought he was strong enough to be taken off the ventilator that day.

\----

The first thing Neal became aware of was that his arms and legs felt very heavy. He was trying to reach up and scratch his face, but he couldn’t quite find the strength to lift his hand. He decided to investigate, so he opened his eyes. For three blessed seconds, he felt nothing. And then awareness descended and he wished he could just go back to feeling nothing again. Because his chest hurt and he felt like he was choking and he still couldn’t move his limbs. He looked around urgently – to panic was to admit a lack of control – trying to assess the situation.

He felt a hand press down on his chest and looked up at the person whose head had come into view. It was a young blonde woman with a warm smile. “It’s OK, Mr. Caffrey. You’re OK,” she said in a soothing voice. “You’re in the hospital, and you are safe. What you’re feeling is the ventilator tube that is down your throat. We’re going to remove it very soon, but I want you to relax. Can you do that?”

Neal thought he nodded, but he wasn’t sure. “OK, I’m going to pull on this, Mr. Caffrey. When I do, I want you to cough and cough. Got it? OK, here goes.” She removed the tube while Neal coughed, and the pain of its removal was more than it had any right being, or so he thought. He gasped as it left him, thinking how strange a feeling it was – such a violation and yet alarmingly intimate to have something settled inside you like that. But at least it was gone. “Shallow breaths, Mr. Caffrey,” the young woman told him and he complied. He soon felt better.

She adjusted the bed so that his head was now elevated, which made him feel more comfortable. He looked down at himself with a strange detachment, taking a quick inventory of his arms and legs. Yep, still there. He coughed and the young woman held up a cup with water and a straw for him to sip. “Tiny sips. That’s it,” she said, smiling approvingly. He smiled back. She was adorable, he thought. Petite, just on the right side of chubby, large blue eyes that held on to her smile. He thought he might love her a little bit.

“How long…” he tried to say, but his words wouldn’t work. He reached up and grasped his throat.

“Have you been here? A little over a week. It’s been a rough road, but you made it. You’re very lucky, you almost died.”

He nodded and leaned his head back on his pillow. He was suddenly very tired.

“The doctor will be here in a minute, but in the meantime, there are some people who would very much like to see you. Are you up to some visitors? I know they can’t wait to see you.”

He nodded and she went to open the door. In came El and Mozzie. El took his face in her hands and kissed him on his forehead. He sighed with happiness to see her, touch her, smell her. Moz just stood there grinning like an idiot. “Ooh, you need a shave,” El kidded, rubbing at his chin with her thumb, but she couldn’t resist leaning in and kissing him again on the lips. “Oh my God, I missed you,” she whispered so that only he heard.

He gazed in her eyes and smiled. “El,” he tried to say, again failing to produce words from his ravaged throat. “Peter?”

“He’s sleeping. You’ll see him soon. He’s well, Neal, you saved his life. Thank you.”

“Yeah, you’re a real hero now. Hughes is recommending you for a commendation,” Moz said.

He gave a small smile, his eyes drooping. “Get some sleep,” El said. “We’ll see you when you wake.”

“OK.” He closed his eyes and with a sigh he was asleep.

El and Moz looked at each other with goofy smiles on their faces and hugged. “Oh, let’s never do this again,” she said, sighing with relief for the first time in a week.

“Deal!” Moz answered.

\----

When Peter woke the next morning, he could tell it was very early. The sun was not yet up, and the halls of the hospital were very quiet. He looked forward to going home and to putting this place behind him. He turned over on his side to try to get back to sleep, and was greeted by the most welcome sight he’d seen in a very long while.

Neal was lying in the bed next to his; he must have been brought in while Peter slept. Peter’s heart thrilled at the sight, and he practically jumped out of the bed – at least as much jumping as he was capable of – donned his robe and moved over to the other bed.

“Beautiful,” Peter whispered with a smile, leaning over the bed rails and flicking back the lock of hair that had fallen across Neal’s forehead. His heart was filled with such gratitude to see him here with him. Neal’s color had returned to his face, and his cheeks were a bit leaner from his ordeal, but he looked well enough. 

Neal sighed in his sleep and moved his head, stirring awake. Peter couldn’t resist speeding the process, reaching down and putting a hand on his lover’s cheek. Neal leaned into the caress and opened his eyes. “Peter,” he sighed, smiling, his voice high and scratchy, but recovering.

“Hey,” Peter said, returning the smile.

Neal reached up and touched the bandages on Peter’s face. “You’re OK?”

“Scars make a face interesting, n'est-ce pas? I’ll be fine.” He continued stroking his fingers through Neal’s hair, becoming more serious. “I hear I owe you my life.”

Neal closed his eyes, savoring the sensation. “You’d have done the same, Peter,” he said, opening his eyes, impossibly blue in the low light, like sapphires.

Peter was struck suddenly by the sight. He leaned in and kissed Neal then, deep and long, tender. “I love you so much,” he said, breaking the kiss. “Please don’t ever do this again.”

“I can’t promise that, Peter. You and El are everything. I will always protect that.”

“OK then, promise me you’ll live forever.”

“Oh, that I _can_ do.” He strained his head up for another kiss, then said, “You do the same.”

“I promise. We’ll ride down eternity together.”

“Until we get bored.”

“Oh, that goes without saying.”

\----

Thank you for your time.

  



End file.
